


At First Sight

by CiciWeezil



Series: The Professor and His Angel [1]
Category: Da Vinci Code | Robert Langdon Series - Dan Brown
Genre: Carlo is Patrick, Carlo is a good guy, I don't know why they changed Carlo's name, M/M, Patrick is Carlo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22381522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CiciWeezil/pseuds/CiciWeezil
Summary: What if Carlo Ventresca was innocent, and someone else planted the bomb below Vatican City? It would certainly have been a very different ending.
Relationships: Robert Langdon/Carlo Ventresca, Robert Langdon/Patrick McKenna
Series: The Professor and His Angel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1611106
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	1. Prologue

_Il Camerlengo_ carefully washed his face, and then glanced at himself in the mirror. He saw no signs of redness in his eyes. He gently dabbed the water off with a soft towel before returning to the Papal office. 

He hadn't slept in two weeks, not since it had happened. He'd certainly tried, but rest no longer seemed possible for him.

But it would soon be over. In a few days, when his duties were done, he could choose a quiet church in a quiet place and live the rest of his life quietly. He would miss Vatican City, but his time here was coming to an end. 

He could be content with that, he decided.

In forty minutes, he would seal conclave, and then await the arrival of the new Pope.

And then, maybe he could finally rest.

He sat down in Papa’s chair, his hands on his knees, and took a shaky breath.

The shrill sound of the phone nearly had him falling out of the chair. 

He quickly composed himself, grateful no one could see him, and answered.

“Yes?”

“Camerlengo, signore, I have a woman calling from _Comandante_ Olivetti’s office on the line. She insists on speaking with you about a matter of security.”

“In Olivetti’s office?” _Il Camerlengo_ furrowed his brow. “Where is Commander Olivetti?”

“I don’t know, signore, but it sounds rather urgent.”

“Patch her through.”

“Right away, signore.”

The camerlengo rubbed his eyes and waited a moment. “This is Camerlengo Ventresca. Who may I ask is calling?”

“My name is Vittoria Vetra,” said a young woman. “I am a physicist from CERN.”

“And you are in Commander in Olivetti’s office, here in Vatican City?” asked the camerlengo.

“Olivetti locked us in his office. He won’t listen to us.”

Us? The camerlengo wondered who else was there.

“He’s locked you in his office?”

“Yes,” said Vetra. “And I must warn-”

She was cut off suddenly, and a gruffer voice practically shouted into the receiver. “Who the hell is this!”

“Comandante. Is it true you are holding a young woman and her companion in your office?”

Apparently the commander recognized his voice, because his tone immediately changed.

“Yes, camerlengo.”

“And she is a physicist from CERN? She wanted to warn me about something?”

“Correct, signore, but questions of security demand-”

“Do you intend to charge this woman with anything?”

“Of course not, I am holding her here because-”

“I would like to hear what she has to say.”

“Certainly, but-”

“Right now. Conclave is in a half hour. There is no time to waste.”

“Yes, sir,” Olivetti said, finally giving in. “I will bring them up immediately.”

Only one thing was certain to the camerlengo when he hung up the phone. 

Olivetti was hiding something.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write this story for literal years. Somehow I'm going to write this story all the way through Origin. This first story is going to be very long, and just as I've done in my other stories, most of this will be the same dialogue from the canon, while the narrative is completely my own. 99% of it will be told from Carlo Ventresca's point of view - and he is not the villain. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy, and please leave a comment.

The gentle knock at the door was not unexpected, so _Il Camerlengo_ did not look up from what he was writing. “ _Avanti!_ ”

He heard the door open and soft footsteps. 

“ _Avanti,_ ” he repeated. He set his pen down and finally looked up. 

The sight before him was wholly unexpected. He stood, cutting off Olivetti’s half-assed apology with a wave of his hand. As he walked towards them, he took in the sight of the young woman and the handsome man before him. 

His own green eyes suddenly met the man’s blue ones, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Who was this man?

“I am Carlo Ventresca, the late Pope’s camerlengo.” 

“Vittoria Vetra,” said the woman, stepping forward and shaking his hand. “This is Robert Langdon, a religious historian from Harvard University.”

Robert Langdon. 

“ _Padre,_ ” said Langdon, making a noble attempt at an Italian accent. 

“No, no,” said Carlo, feeling self-conscious as Langdon bowed in respect. “His Holiness’s office does not make me holy. I am merely a priest - a chamberlain serving in a time of need.”

The man straightened. Carlo stole a glance at his attire. A turtleneck under a Harris Tweed jacket? It sounded absurd, but on this man, it looked tasteful.

“Please, everyone sit,” said the camerlengo. He arranged three chairs around Papa’s desk. The two visitors sat, but Olivetti did not. 

Taking his own seat, Carlo sighed, feeling a sudden weariness. 

Olivetti broke the silence. “Signore, the woman’s attire is my fault. I-”

“Her attire is not what concerns me,” said Carlo, attempting a sharpness in his voice, but failing. He was so tired. “When the Vatican operator calls me a half hour before I begin conclave to tell me a woman is calling from your private office to warn me of some sort of major security threat of which I have not been informed, that concerns me.”

“Signore, you should not concern yourself with matters of security,” Olivetti told him. “You have other responsibilities.”

“I am well aware of my other responsibilities,” said Carlo, aware of Langdon’s eyes on him. Wait, why did it matter that the professor was watching him? “I am also aware that as _direttore intermediario_ , I have a responsibility for the safety and well-being of everyone at this conclave. What is going on here?”

“I have the situation under control.”

Carlo raised an eyebrow at him. “Apparently not.”

“Father,” said Langdon suddenly, holding out a crumpled piece of paper. “Please.”

Despite the commander’s protests, Carlo took the paper, and looked. His eyes widened in horror. “What is this?”

“That is my father,” Vittoria said, the strength in her voice disappearing suddenly. “He was a priest and a man of science. He was murdered last night.”

Carlo felt immense empathy for her. He, too, had lost someone very important to him. “My dear child. I’m so sorry.”

His hand instinctively drew a cross, from his forehead to his chest, then from one shoulder to the other. Then he dared look at the image again. “Who would… and this burn on his…”

Langdon spoke again. “It says Illuminati. No doubt you are familiar with the name.”

Carlo furrowed his brow. “I have heard the name, yes, but…”

“The Illuminati murdered Leonardo Vetra so they could steal a new technology he was-” 

Olivetti cut Langdon off. “Signore, this is absurd. The Illuminati? This is clearly some sort of elaborate hoax.”

Carlo did not answer, deep in thought. His gaze slowly rose from the image to the commander, and then continued until his eyes rested on Langdon. 

Robert Langdon. A religious professor from Harvard University. A deep, baritone voice that probably made women swoon. A black turtleneck underneath a Harris Tweed jacket. Khaki pants and cordovan loafers. And intelligent blue eyes, like deep oceans of knowledge. 

Langdon stared back at him, his eyes seeming to study Carlo just as deeply. The camerlengo felt quite naked under his gaze.

Finally, he addressed the older man.

“Mr. Langdon,” he said quietly. “I have spent my life in the Catholic Church. I am familiar with the Illuminati lore… and the legend of the brandings. And yet I must warn you, I am a man of the present tense. Christianity has enough real enemies without resurrecting ghosts.”

“The symbol is authentic,” Langdon assured him. He leaned forward and turned the paper in Carlo’s hands. 

Carlo looked down, and immediately saw what Langdon was showing him. 

Illuminati. It was the same both ways.

Robert continued. “Even modern computers have been unable to forge a symmetrical ambigram of this word.”

Carlo set the paper on the desk and sighed. “The Illuminati are dead. Long ago. That is historical fact.”

“Yesterday, I would have agreed with you,” said Langdon.

“Yesterday?” What did he mean?

“Before today’s chain of events. I believe the Illuminati have resurfaced to make good on an ancient pact.”

What? “Forgive me,” Carlo said. “My history is rusty. What ancient pact is this?”

The deep breath Langdon took did not bode well. “The destruction of Vatican City.”

Carlo’s brow furrowed again. “Destroy Vatican City? But that would be impossible.”

The young woman, Vittoria, shook her head. “I’m afraid we have some more bad news.”

* * *

Of all the terrible things to happen… And only minutes before conclave… 

“Is this true?” Carlo asked sharply, his green eyes lit with alarm. 

“Signore, I’ll admit there is some sort of device here. It is visible on one of our security monitors, but as for Ms. Vetra’s claims as to the power of this substance, I cannot possibly-”

“Wait a minute,” said Carlo. “You can see this thing?”

“Yes, signore. On wireless camera #86.”

Carlo was a man with a long temper, but he could not hide his anger now. “Then why haven’t you recovered it?”

Olivetti quickly explained. The camera was missing. They had no idea where in the city it was. Somewhere dark. That was all.

He could feel his heart race slightly as he realized just how bad the situation might be. “Are you certain it is inside Vatican City? Maybe someone took the camera out and is transmitting from somewhere else.”

“Impossible. Our external walls are shielded electronically to protect our internal communications. This signal can only be coming from the inside or we would not be receiving it.”

Carlo nodded, his mind racing along with his heart. “And I assume that you are now looking for this missing camera with all available resources?”

“No, signore,” Olivetti said. Carlo couldn’t believe his ears. “Locating that camera could take hundreds of man hours. We have a number of other security concerns at the moment, and with all due respect to Ms. Vetra, this droplet she talks about is very small. It could not possibly be as explosive as she claims.”

“That droplet is enough to level Vatican City!” Vittoria cried. “Did you even listen to a word I told you?”

"Ma’am, my experience with explosives is extensive.”

“Your experience is obsolete. Despite my attire, which I realize you find troublesome, I am a senior level physicist at the world’s most advanced subatomic research facility. I personally designed the antimatter trap that is keeping that sample from annihilating right now. And I am warning you that unless you find that cannister in the next six hours, your guards will have nothing to protect for the next century but a big hole in the ground.”

“Signore,” Olivetti turned back to Carlo, who was growing ever more tired. “I cannot in good conscience allow this to go any further. Your time is being wasted by pranksters. The Illuminati? A droplet that will destroy us all?”

“ _Basta._ ”

That single word was enough to silence Olivetti. Vittoria sat back down. Carlo could see Langdon, who had been watching the argument with obvious concern, in the corner of his eye. The professor had turned his gaze back to him.

It took him a moment to find the words. “Dangerous or not, Illuminati or no Illuminati, whatever this thing is, it most certainly should not be inside Vatican City… no less on the eve of the conclave. I want it found and removed. Organize a search immediately.”

“Signore, even if we used all the guards to search the complex, it could take days to find this camera. Also, after speaking to Ms. Vetra, I had one of my guards consult our most advanced ballistics guide for any mention of this substance called antimatter. I found no mention of it anywhere. Nothing.”

Carlo breathed in deeply, and carefully straightened himself.

“Signore, if you are suggesting we make a naked-eye search of the entirety of Vatican City then I must object.”

“Commander.” Carlo’s voice was even, his face passive, but his temper was reaching a boiling point. “May I remind you that when you address me, you are addressing this office. I realize you do not take my position seriously - nonetheless, by law, I am in charge. If I am not mistaken, the cardinals are now safely inside the Sistine Chapel, and your security concerns are at a minimum until the conclave breaks. I do not understand why you are hesitant to look for this device. If I did not know better it would appear that you are causing this conclave intentional danger.”

“How dare you! I have served your Pope for twelve years! And the Pope before that for fourteen years! Since 1438 the Swiss Guard have-”

Olivetti was interrupted by the radio at his waist. 

“ _Comandante_?”

“ _Sono occupato! Cosa Vuoi!_ ”

“ _Scusi_. Communications here. I thought you would want to be informed that we have received a bomb threat.”

As Carlo listened to the conversation unfold, his heart dropped deeper into the pit of his stomach. All anger was gone from him, replaced by one thing: fear.

“The caller is still on the line, sir.”

“The line is open?” asked Olivetti, shocked. 

“Yes, sir. We’ve been trying to trace him for ten minutes, getting nothing but splayed ferreting. He must know we can’t touch him because he refuses to hang up until he speaks to the camerlengo.”

“Patch him through,” Carlo commanded. “Now!”

“Father, no. A trained Swiss Guard negotiator is much better suited to handle this.” 

“NOW!” Any other day, Carlo would have appreciated Olivetti’s obvious concern. But not today.

Olivetti obliged.

As soon as the phone rang, Carlo practically stabbed the speaker-phone button. “Who in the name of God do you think you are?”

“I am a messenger of an ancient brotherhood,” said a cold voice. Carlo shivered involuntarily. “A brotherhood you have wronged for centuries. I am a messenger for the Illuminati.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, since he's not the villain, I've had to tweak his personality a bit. He is legitimately very humble in this story, and maybe a little insecure/self-conscious, but not in a teenage girl sort of way.
> 
> Attention fellow fanfic readers: You're invited to the Discord Server Beta On It: https://discord.gg/GvDkjxb. Here you can interact with me, my beta and fellow ficwriter Leahcar260, and other readers. Come join us!


	3. Two

“What do you want?” Carlo demanded, praying to God to hide his fear.

“I represent men of science. Men who like yourselves are searching for the answers. Answers to man’s destiny, his purpose, his creator.”

“Whoever you are, I-”

“Silenzio. You will do better to listen. For two millennia your church has dominated the quest for truth. You have crushed your opposition with lies and prophecies of doom. You have manipulated the truth to serve your needs, murdering those whose discoveries did not serve your politics. Are you surprised you are the target of enlightened men from around the globe?”

“Enlightened men do not resort to blackmail to further their causes,” said Carlo.

His laugh caused the hairs on the back of Carlo’s neck to stand up. “Blackmail? This is not blackmail. We have no demands. The abolition of the Vatican is non-negotiable. We have waited four hundred years for this day. At midnight, your city will be destroyed. There is nothing you can do.”

Olivetti roared. “Access to this city is impossible! You could not possibly have planted explosives in here!”

The caller sounded unimpressed. “You speak with the ignorant devotion of a Swiss Guard. Perhaps even an officer. Surely you are aware that for centuries the Illuminati have infiltrated elitist organizations across the globe. Do you really believe the Vatican is immune?”

What? Surely, Carlo thought, he didn’t mean that someone in Vatican City was pulling the strings? An Illuminati in the most sacred city on Earth?

Olivetti remained steadfast. “A transparent bluff. Your influence cannot possibly extend so far.”

“Why? Because your Swiss Guards are vigilant? Because they watch every corner of your private world? How about the Swiss Guards themselves? Are they not men? Do you truly believe they stake their lives on a fable about a man who walks on water? Ask yourself how else the canister could have entered your city. Or how four of your most precious assets could have disappeared this afternoon.”

Carlo’s head snapped up at Olivetti.

“Our assets?” Olivetti scowled. “What do you mean?”

“One, two, three, four,” said the caller, with a mock singsong voice. “You haven’t missed them by now?”

“What the hell are you talk-” Olivetti froze.

“Light dawns. Shall I read their names?”

Carlo’s mind was reeling. What did he mean? “What’s going on?”

Once again, the caller laughed. “Your officer has not yet informed you? How sinful. No surprise. Such pride. I imagine the disgrace of telling you the truth… that four cardinals he had sworn to protect seem to have disappeared…”

“Where did you get this information?” Olivetti demanded.

“Camerlengo, ask your commander if all your cardinals are present in the Sistine Chapel.”

Carlo turned his green eyes to Olivetti, waiting.

Olivetti stepped forward and whispered in Carlo’s ear. “Signore, it is true that four of our cardinals have not yet reported to the Sistine Chapel, but there is no need for alarm. Every one of them checked into the residence hall this morning, so we know they are safely inside Vatican City. You yourself had tea with them only hours ago. They are simply late for the fellowship preceding conclave. We are searching, but I’m sure they just lost track of time and are still out enjoying the grounds.”

“Enjoying the grounds?” Carlo shot back. “They were due in the chapel over an hour ago!”

“Our inventory,” the caller cut in. “You will find quite convincing. There is Cardinal Lamassé from Paris, Cardinal Guidera from Barcelona, Cardinal Ebner from Frankfurt… and from Italy… Cardinal Baggia.”

Carlo’s breath hitched. He staggered backward into Papa’s chair. His voice was barely a whisper. “ _I preferiti…_ including Baggia… the most likely successor as Supreme Pontiff… how is it possible?”

Taking several deep breaths, Carlo tried to straighten himself. “What do you intend with these men?”

“What do you think I intend? I am a descendent of the Hassassin.”

Carlo wasn’t sure what he meant. “Let the cardinals go. Isn’t threatening to destroy the City of God enough?”

“Forget your four cardinals. They are lost to you. Be assured their deaths will be remembered though… by millions. Every martyr’s dream. I will make them media luminaries. One by one. By midnight the Illuminati will have everyone’s attention. Why change the world if the world is not watching. Public killings have an intoxicating horror about them, don’t they? You proved that long ago… the inquisition, the torture of the Knights Templar, the crusades… and of course, _la purga_.”

Carlo said nothing.

“Do you not recall _la purga_? Of course not, you are a child. Priests are poor historians, anyway. Perhaps because their history shames them?”

“ _La purga_ ,” Langdon said. Carlo’s desperate eyes looked up at him. “1668. The church branded four Illuminati scientists with the symbol of the cross. To purge their sins.”

“Who is speaking? Who else is there?”

“My name is not important. I am an academic who has studied the history of your brotherhood.”

“Superb. I am pleased there are still those alive who remember the crimes against us.”

“Most of us think you are dead.”

“A misconception the brotherhood has worked hard to promote. What else do you know of _la purga_?”

Carlo kept his eyes on the professor, having no clue what he was about to say.

“After the brandings, the scientists were murdered, and their bodies were dropped in public locations around Rome as a warning to other scientists not to join the Illuminati.”

Carlo vaguely remembered learning about this from Papa years ago. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought it would be important. 

“Yes. So we shall do the same. _Quid pro quo_. Consider it symbolic retribution for our slain brothers. Your four cardinals will die, one every hour starting at eight. By midnight the whole world will be enthralled.”

Langdon took a step towards the phone. “You actually intend to brand and kill these four men?”

“History repeats itself, does it not? Of course, we will be more elegant and bold than the church was. They killed privately, dropping bodies when no one was looking. It seems so cowardly.”

“What are you saying? That you are going to brand and kill these men in public?” Langdon looked at Carlo, who returned the gaze.

“Very good. Although it depends what you consider public. I realize not many people go to church anymore.”

“You’re going to kill them in churches?” 

“A gesture of kindness. Enabling God to commend their souls to heaven more expeditiously. It seems only right. Of course the press will enjoy it, too, I imagine.”

“You’re bluffing,” Olivetti cut in. “You cannot kill a man in a church and expect to get away with it.”

“Bluffing? We move among your Swiss Guard like ghosts, remove four of your cardinals from within your walls, plant a deadly explosive at the heart of your most sacred shrine, and you think this is a bluff? As the killings occur and the victims are found, the media will swarm. By midnight the world will know the Illuminati cause.”

“And if we stake guards in every church?” Olivetti threatened.

Carlo knew that would be impossible before the caller replied.

“I fear the prolific nature of your religion will make that a trying task. Have you not counted lately? There are over four hundred Catholic churches in Rome. Cathedrals, chapels, tabernacles, abbeys, monasteries, convents, parochial schools…”

There was a pause.

“In ninety minutes it begins. One an hour. A mathematical progression of death. Now I must go.”

“Wait!” cried Langdon, startling Carlo out of a near stupor. “Tell me about the brands you intend to use on these men.”

“I suspect you know what the brands will be already. Or perhaps you are a skeptic? You will see them soon enough. Proof the ancient legends are true.”

“I am sworn,” said Carlo, finally. “To bring a new Pope tonight. Sworn by God.”

“Camerlengo, the world does not need a new Pope. After midnight he will have nothing to rule but a pile of rubble. The Catholic Church is finished. Your run on earth is done.”

Carlo shook his head slowly. “You are misguided. A church is more than mortar and stone. You cannot simply erase two thousand years of faith… any faith. You cannot crush faith simply by removing its earthly manifestations. The Catholic Church will continue with or without Vatican City.”

“A noble lie. But a lie all the same. We both know the truth. Tell me, why is Vatican City a walled citadel?”

“Men of God live in a dangerous world,” Carlo said simply.

“How young are you? The Vatican is a fortress because the Catholic Church holds half of its equity inside its walls - rare paintings, sculpture, devalued jewels, priceless books… then there is the gold bullion and the real estate deeds inside the Vatican Bank vaults. Inside estimates put the raw value of Vatican City at 48.5 billion dollars. Quite a nest egg you’re sitting on. Tomorrow it will be ash. Liquidated assets as it were. You will be bankrupt. Not even men of cloth can work for nothing.”

“Faith, not money, is the backbone of this church,” Carlo replied hollowly.

“More lies. Last year you spent 183 million dollars trying to support your struggling dioceses worldwide. Church attendance is at an all time low - down forty-six percent in the last decade. Donations are half what they were only seven years ago. Fewer and fewer men are entering the seminary. Although you will not admit it, your church is dying. Consider this a chance to go out with a bang.”

Olivetti cut in once more. “And what if some of that bullion went to fund your cause?”

“Do not insult us both.”

“We have money,” Olivetti said.

“As do we. More than you can fathom.”

“ _I preferiti_ ,” Carlo said. “Spare them. They are old. They-”

“They are virgin sacrifices. Tell me, do you think they are really virgins? Will the little lambs squeal when they die? _Sacrifici vergini nell’ altare di scienza._ ”

Carlo’s face hardened. “They are men of faith. They do not fear death.”

“Leonardo Vetra was a man of faith, and yet I saw fear in his eyes last night. A fear I removed.”

Vittoria erupted. “ _Stronzo!_ He was my father!”

The voice cackled. “Your father? What is this? Vetra has a daughter? You should know your father whimpered like a child at the end. Pitiful really. A pathetic man.”

Carlo wanted nothing more than to comfort the young woman trembling across from him, and to silence the man on the phone. 

“I swear on my life, before this night is over, I will find you,” Vittoria growled. “And when I do…”

Another callous laugh. “A woman of spirit. I am aroused. Perhaps before this night is over, I will find you. And when I do…”

Then the line went dead.


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally found a day off.

“Carlo.”

Being addressed by his first name startled the camerlengo from his stupor. He looked up at the commander.

“For twenty-six years, I have sworn my life to the protection of this office. It seems tonight I am dishonored.”

Carlo shook his head, remembering suddenly that he was a spiritual leader. “You and I serve God in different capacities, but service always brings honor.”

Olivetti still sounded hopeless. “These events… I can’t imagine how… this situation…”

Carlo stood slowly, his mind having slowed down finally, though his heart was still racing. “You realize we have only one possible course of action. I have a responsibility for the safety of the College of Cardinals.”

“I fear that responsibility was mine, signore.”

Of course he felt that way. “Then your men will oversee the immediate evacuation.”

Olivetti looked shocked. “Signore?”

“Other options can be exercised later - a search for this device, a manhunt for the missing cardinals and their captors. But first the cardinals must be taken to safety,” Carlo explained. “The sanctity of human life weighs above all. Those men are the foundation of this church.”

“You suggest we cancel conclave right now?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“What about your charge to bring a new Pope?”

Carlo stepped away from Papa’s desk, and looked out the window. There was a crowd of people below, cameras ready. The whole world was watching tonight. “His Holiness once told me that a Pope is a man torn between two worlds… the real world and the divine. He warned that any church that ignored reality would not survive to enjoy the divine…”

Carlo reached into his right pocket, fingers touching his rosary. He’d started carrying it around again about two weeks ago. The day his life drastically changed for the second time.

“The real world is upon us tonight,” Carlo said. “We would be vain to ignore it. Pride and precedent cannot overshadow reason.”

“I have underestimated you, signore,” said Olivetti. Carlo did not turn, but he was glad to have the commander on his side, finally. 

“I will speak openly, signore. The real world is my world. I immerse myself in its ugliness every day such that others are unencumbered to seek something more pure. Let me advise you on the present situation. It is what I am trained for. Your instincts, though worthy… could be disastrous.”

Carlo finally turned, and the commander sighed, looking as old as one of the cardinals.

“The evacuation of the College of Cardinals from the Sistine Chapel is the worst possible thing you could do right now.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Carlo.

“Say nothing to the cardinals. Seal conclave. It will buy us time to try other options.”

Carlo felt uneasy. “Are you suggesting I lock the entire College of Cardinals on top of a time bomb?”

“Yes, signore,” Olivetti said plainly. “For now. Later, if need be, we can arrange evacuation.”

Impossible. “Postponing the ceremony before it starts is grounds alone for an inquiry, but after the doors are sealed nothing intervenes. Conclave procedure obligates-”

“Real world, signore,” Olivetti reminded him. “You’re in it tonight. Listen closely. Marching one hundred sixty-five cardinals unprepared and unprotected into Rome would be reckless. It would cause confusion and panic in some very old men, and frankly, one fatal stroke this month is enough.”

Carlo eyed the empty chair that Papa had once sat in. Olivetti was right on several counts, but there had to be another way. 

“In addition,” Olivetti continued. “The Sistine Chapel is a fortress. Although we don’t advertise the fact, the structure is heavily reinforced and can repel any attack short of missiles. As preparation we searched every inch of the chapel this afternoon, scanning for bugs and other surveillance equipment. The chapel is clear, a safe haven, and I am confident the antimatter is not inside. There is no safer place those men can be right now. We can always discuss emergency evacuation later if it comes to that.”

“Commander,” Vittoria spoke up. “There are other concerns. Nobody has ever created this much antimatter. The blast radius, I can only estimate. Some of surrounding Rome may be in danger. If the canister is in one of your central buildings or underground, the effect outside these walls may be minimal, but if the canister is near the perimeter… in this building, for example…”

They all glanced out at the people gathered in St. Peter’s Square.

“I am well aware of my responsibilities to the outside world,” said Olivetti. “And it makes the situation no more grave. The protection of this sanctuary has been my sole charge for over two decades. I have no intention of allowing this weapon to detonate.”

Carlo’s eyes widened. “You think you can find it.”

“Let me discuss our options with some of my surveillance specialists. There is a possibility, if we kill power to Vatican City, that we can eliminate the background RF and create a clean enough environment to get a reading on that canister’s magnetic field.”

The physicist actually looked impressed. “You want to black out Vatican City?”

“Possibly,” Olivetti replied. “I don’t yet know if it’s possible, but it is one option I want to explore.”

“The cardinals would certainly wonder what happened.”

“Conclaves are held by candlelight,” Olivetti told her. “The cardinals would never know. After conclave is sealed, I could pull all except a few of my perimeter guards and begin a search. A hundred men could cover a lot of ground in five hours.”

“Four hours,” Vittoria said. “I need to fly the canister back to CERN. Detonation is unavoidable without recharging the batteries.”

“There’s no way to recharge here?”

“The interface is complex. I’d have brought it if I could.”

“Four hours, then,” Olivetti said. “Still time enough. Panic serves no one. Signore, you have ten minutes. Go to the chapel, seal conclave. Give my men some time to do their job. As we get closer to the critical hour, we will make the critical decisions.”

Had it really only been twenty minutes? Still, one thing troubled him. “But the college will ask about the preferiti… especially about Baggia… where they are.”

“Then you will have to think of something, signore. Tell them you served the four cardinals something at tea that disparaged them.”

Carlo was appalled. “Stand on the altar of the Sistine Chapel and lie to the College of Cardinals?”

“For their own safety,” Olivetti insisted. “Una bugia veniale. A white lie. Your job will be to keep the peace. Now if you will excuse me, I need to get started.”

“Comandante, we cannot simply turn our backs on the missing cardinals,” Carlo said, stepping forward.

Olivetti stopped, looking disturbed. “Baggia and the others are currently outside our sphere of influence. We must let them go… for the good of the whole. The military calls it triage.”

Carlo knew military language quite well, though he’d never told Olivetti that. “Don’t you mean abandonment?”

“If there were any way, signore,” Olivetti said quietly. “Any way in heaven to locate those four cardinals, I would lay down my life to do it. And yet…” He motioned to the window, with all of Rome stretching beyond. “Searching a city of five million is not within my power. I will not waste precious time to appease my conscience in a futile exercise. I’m sorry.”

“But if we caught the killer, couldn’t you make him talk?” Vittoria asked suddenly.

“Soldiers cannot afford to be saints, Ms. Vetra,” Olivetti said. “Believe me, I empathize with your personal incentive to catch this man.”

“It’s not only personal,” she said. “The killer knows where the antimatter is… and the missing cardinals. If we could somehow find him…”

“Play into their hands?” Olivetti ased. “Believe me, removing all protection from Vatican City in order to stake out hundreds of churches is what the Illuminati hope we will do… wasting precious time and manpower when we should be searching… or worse yet, leaving the Vatican Bank totally unprotected. Not to mention the remaining cardinals.”

No, there had to be something. “How about the Roman Police? We could alert city-wide enforcement of the crisis. Enlist their help in finding the cardinals’ captor.”

“Another mistake,” said Olivetti with a shake of his head. “You know how the Roman Carabinieri feel about us. We’d get a half-hearted effort of a few men in exchange for their selling our crisis to the global media. Exactly what our enemies want. We’ll have to deal the media soon enough as it is.”

Carlo remembered the cold words of the voice on the phone. _I will make your cardinals media luminaries._ It still sent chills down his spine.

“Commander, we cannot in good conscience do nothing about the missing cardinals!” Carlo cried.

“The prayer of St. Francis, signore. Do you recall it?”

Carlo pursed his lips for a moment. “God, grant me the strength to accept those things I cannot change.”

“Trust me,” said Olivetti. “This is one of those things.”


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spring Break! Time to get turnt! Do people still say that. 
> 
> By the way, after going through a pseudo-identity crisis, my good friend and beta reader, Leahcar260 is now Monoceros260. She's also working on the next chapter in my favorite Harry Potter story, [McGonagall's Girl!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14593176/chapters/33725778) Go check it out!

Carlo’s legs did not seem to work, even to bring him back to Papa’s chair. But Vittoria’s seemed to be working twice as much as a normal person’s as she paced around the ornate room.

She wouldn’t be the first to do that, Carlo thought to himself.

“It won’t work.”

Carlo turned his tired green eyes to her. 

“Even if a Swiss Guard team can filter electronic interference, they will have to be practically on top of the canister before they detect any signal. And that’s if the canister is even accessible… unenclosed by other barriers. What if it’s buried in a metal box somewhere on your grounds? Or up in a metal ventilating duct. There’s no way they’ll trace it. And what if the Swiss Guards have been infiltrated? Who’s to say the search will be clean?”

It’s amazing I’m still standing, Carlo thought. “What are you proposing Ms. Vetra?”

“I am proposing, sir, that you take other precautions immediately. We can hope against all hope that the commander’s search is successful. At the same time, look out the window. Do you see those people? Those buildings across the piazza? Those media vans? The tourists? They are quite possibly within range of the blast. You need to act now.”

Carlo nodded, barely hearing her. He silently wished Papa was here to help him.

“Signore, the man who killed my father is out there somewhere. Every cell in this body wants to run from here and hunt him down. But I am standing in your office… because I have a responsibility to you. To you and others. Lives are in danger, signore. Do you hear me?”

Carlo remained silent. Uncertainty filled him. Dread, fear, and every terrible feeling. Every cell in Vittoria’s body wanted to run, but every part of Carlo wanted to double over and vomit, despite having not eaten all day.

A loud crash made him nearly jump out of his skin. He whipped around to see the professor now standing, having been silent for some time. His chair had toppled over.

“I missed it,” Langdon whispered. “It was right in front of me.”

“Missed what?” asked Vittoria. 

Langdon looked directly at him, his blue setting every part of Carlo’s body on fire. “Father, for three years I have petitioned this office for access to the Vatican Archives. I have been denied seven times.”

And eight time’s the charm? Carlo thought to himself. “Mr. Langdon, I am sorry, but this hardly seems the moment to raise such complaints.”

“I need access immediately. The four missing cardinals. I may be able to figure out where they’re going to be killed.”

What in God’s name was this man talking about? “You expect me to believe this information is in our archives?”

“I can’t promise I can locate it in time, but if you let me in…”

“Mr. Langdon,” Carlo sighed. “I am due in the Sistine Chapel in four minutes. The archives are across Vatican City.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” asked Vittoria.

“Hardly a joking time,” Langdon said. 

“Father, if there’s a chance…” Vittoria said. “Any at all of finding where these killings are going to happen, we could stake out the locations and-”

“But the archives? How could they possibly contain any clue?” asked Carlo.

Langdon stepped forward. “Explaining it will take longer than you’ve got. But if I’m right, we can use the information to catch the Hassassin.”

Carlo could hear the sincerity in his voice, could see it in his eyes. Yet… “Christianity’s most sacred codices are in that archive. Treasures I myself am not privileged enough to see.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Access is permitted only by the written decree of the curator and the Board of Vatican Librarians.”

“Or by papal mandate. It says so in every rejection letter your curator ever sent me,” Langdon reminded him. “Not to be rude, but if I’m not mistaken, a papal mandate comes from this office. As far as I can tell, tonight you hold the trust of his station. Considering the circumstances…”

Carlo checked his pocket watch. A gift from Papa. “Mr. Langdon, I am prepared to give my life tonight, quite literally, to save this church. This document… do you truly believe it is here? And that it can help us locate these four churches?”

“I would not have made countless solicitations for access if I were not convinced. Italy is a bit far to come on a lark when you make a teacher’s salary. The document you have is an ancient-”

Carlo held up a hand. “Please, forgive me. My mind cannot process any more details at the moment. Do you know where the secret archives are located?”

“Just behind the Santa Ana Gate.”

Carlo’s brow rose. “Impressive. Most scholars believe it is through the secret door behind St. Peter’s Throne.”

“No, that would be the Archivio della Reverenda di Fabbrica di S. Pietro. A common misconception.”

Who was this man? “A librarian docent accompanies every entrant at all times. Tonight, the docents are gone. What you are requesting is carte blanche access. Not even our cardinals enter alone.”

“I will treat your treasures with the utmost respect and care. Your librarians will find not a trace that I was there.”

The bells began to toll at that moment, and Carlo checked his watch again. “I must go.” He looked up at Langdon’s blue eyes one last time. “I will have a Swiss Guard meet you at the archives. I am giving you my trust, Mr. Langdon. Go now.”

The professor stared back at him in shock. Carlo lay a handle on his shoulder and squeezed. “I want you to find what you are looking for. And find it quickly.”


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being stuck at home means I'm writing more, right? Not really... I'm still actually working, making videos and watching trainings. Also I have schoolwork. But I do want to catch up on my fics. My goal is to update each of my ongoing fics before the March is over. 
> 
> Stay safe out there, everyone! I hope this chapter helps you keep your sanity.

Carlo took his time walking to the Sistine Chapel, pinching his nose as he fought back tears.

Be strong.

That's what he had been telling himself for the past fifteen days. Conclave was his final duty. Once it was over, and a new Pope was welcomed, he could rest.

Or so he had thought. Now he had four missing cardinals condemned to death and a bomb hidden somewhere in the city, counting down to midnight.

His only hope of finding the cardinals was the word of a Harvard professor he had only met less than an hour ago. As for the bomb - Vatican City was so large, and according to Vetra, nearly impossible to detect. 

He prayed silently. _Father in heaven, please help us. Help us save your great city._

It was not the first time he had lived through something like this. Years ago, he had witnessed the death of his mother when their Church was bombed. 

A young priest had adopted him, raising him in the church. When Carlo sought answers about the bombing, the priest had told him, "God saved you for a reason."

Carlo had searched his whole life for that reason, and he suddenly feared that he had found it.

A bomb in Vatican City.

 _Did you really save me for this?_ , Carlo thought, eyes cast upward.

Finally, he stood before the doors. On the other side, he could hear the murmur of voices. 

One hundred sixty-one cardinals were waiting for him. He nodded to the guards, and they opened the doors for him.

A hush fell across the room as Carlo approached the altar. As was his duty, he gave the opening prayer.

And then, he looked out upon the crowd and said: " You are well aware that our four preferiti are not present in conclave at this moment. I ask, in the name of his late Holiness, that you proceed as you must… with faith and purpose. May you have only God before your eyes."

He turned.

"But where are they?" Asked a cardinal that Carlo recognized - Schober from Germany. 

"That I cannot honestly say," the camerlengo said, refusing to lie.

Schober persisted. "When will they return?"

"That I cannot honestly say."

"Are they okay?" Asked another cardinal.

"That I cannot honestly say."

"Will they return?" 

Carlo pursed his lips before turning back to the cardinals. 

"Have faith."

And then he left.


	7. Six

The most shocking part of the entire night, Carlo decided, was that Robert Langdon had been successful. He and Vittoria, with the help of a document in the archives, had discovered the locations where the first two cardinals would be killed. 

Unfortunately, they had been too late to save either of them.

Cardinal Ebner… Cardinal Lamassé… they were both dead. Carlo folded his hands and prayed for their souls. Just as he finished and crossed himself, the doors to the office burst open. 

His eyes fell upon the professor, and they immediately widened in horror.

Before he could speak, Langdon raised a hand. “It’s not my blood, Father… it’s Lamassé’s.”

Carlo nodded, noting that the blood had mostly landed on his face. 

“There is a bathroom through that door,” said Carlo, motioning behind him. “You can clean it off there.”

As Langdon thanked him and passed him, Carlo turned to Vetra, whose eyes were downcast. 

“I’m sorry, Father,” she said. “I tried to perform CPR, but his lungs were pierced through.”

“Have faith, my child,” Carlo told her, despite the emptiness in his heart. 

Vittoria gave an almost imperceivable nod.

“You should eat,” said Carlo, showing her a plate of scones.

“Have you eaten?” Vetra asked.

Carlo was surprised at the question, shaking his head in honesty.

“Signore,” said the commander, waving him over to the window where he stood with Captain Rocher and several other Swiss Guards.

With one last concerned look at the young physicist, Carlo walked over to the Swiss Guards. 

“What happened?” asked Carlo, although he’d already been briefed on most of it.

Olivetti spoke with his usual professional military air. “Cardinal Ebner was found dead in the church of Santa Maria del Popolo just after eight o’clock. He had been suffocated and branded with the ambigrammatic word ‘Earth.’ Cardinal Lamassé was murdered in St. Peter’s Square ten minutes ago. He died of perforations to the chest. He was branded with the word ‘Air,’ also ambigrammatic. The killer escaped in both instances.”

Carlo nodded and looked out at St. Peter’s Square below. 

“Cardinals Guidera and Baggia, however, are still alive.”

His head snapped towards Olivetti, grimacing. “THis is our consolation? Two cardinals have been murdered, Commander. And the other two will obviously not be alive much longer unless you find them.”

Robert Langdon emerged from the bathroom at that moment, glancing between the Swiss Guards and Vittoria, who was nibbling on a scone near the fire. He chose the latter, taking a seat across from her.

“We will find them,” said Olivetti, drawing Carlo’s attention again. “I am encouraged.”

“Encouraged?” asked the camerlengo.

“Yes, signore,” said Olivetti. “We’ve lost two battles, but we’re winning the war. The Illuminati had intended to turn this evening into a media circus. So far we have thwarted their plan. Both cardinals’ bodies have been recovered without incident. In addition, Captain Rocher tells me he is making excellent headway on the antimatter search.”

Captain Rocher nodded. “I am hopeful we will have the canister for you within an hour, signore.”

Carlo furrowed his brow. “Captain, excuse me if I seem less than hopeful, but I was under the impression that a search of Vatican City would take far more time than we have.”

“A full search, yes. However, after assessing the situation, I am confident the antimatter canister is located in one of our white zones - those Vatican sectors accessible to public tours - the museums and St. Peter’s Basilica, for example. We have already killed power in those zones and are conducting our scan.”

“You intend to search only a small percentage of Vatican City?” asked Carlo, feeling queasy.

“Yes, signore. It is highly unlikely that an intruder gained access to the inner zones of Vatican City. The fact that the missing security camera was stolen from a public access area - a stairwell in one of the museums - clearly implies that the intruder had limited access. Therefore he would only have been able to relocate the camera and antimatter in another public access area. It is these areas on which we are focusing our search.”

“But the intruder kidnapped four cardinals. That certainly implies deeper infiltration than we thought.”

“Not necessarily. We must remember that the cardinals spent much of today in the Vatican museums and St. Peter’s Basilica, enjoying those areas without the crowds. It is probable that the missing cardinals were taken in one of these areas.”

“But how were they removed from our walls?”

“We are still assessing that.”

“I see,” said the camerlengo with a sigh, turning to the commander. “Commander, I would like to hear your contingency plan for evacuation.”

“We are still formalizing that, signore,” said Olivetti. “In the meantime, I am faithful Captain Rocher will find the canister.”

“My men have already scanned two-thirds of the white zones. Confidence is high,” Rocher reported.

Carlo did not reflect this confidence, knowing that Rocher was making some grand assumptions about where the canister could be and how to scan for it. According to Vetra, it was highly unlikely they would find it this way, and Carlo was inclined to believe her, since she was the expert.

Another guard entered at that moment, and walked over to Langdon. 

“Mr. Langdon? I have the information you requested on the _West Ponente_.”

Carlo turned back to his discussion with the Swiss Guard. 

“Anything else I should know?” asked Carlo. 

“No, signore,” Olivetti responded. “We will keep you apprised.”

“Very well,” Carlo said. “Please continue to assist Mr. Langdon. At the moment, he’s our best hope of finding the other two cardinals. And the killer.”

Olivetti nodded, and approached Langdon. Rocher, too, bowed his head and returned to his men. 

Less than two minutes later, Olivetti had sent Langdon off with another Swiss Guard, and held Vetra back for a word.

They were interrupted by the crackle of a radio.

“ _Comandante_? I think you better turn on the television.”


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long silence. My summer courses began a week earlier than they were supposed to, so the updates I had planned for last week were pushed off.
> 
> I hope to update once a week for this story.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

It seemed the Swiss Guard had not been as successful at keeping the media out as they’d thought.

 _Media luminaries._ The two words still echoed in Carlo’s mind.

The killer, or killers, had apparently contacted a BBC reporter. Now the whole world knew about the deaths of the first two cardinals. 

Worst of all, the Illuminati were now claiming to have killed the Pope, too. 

It was too much for Carlo to bear.

“They gave no specifics,” said Gunther Glick on the TV. “Except to say that they killed him with a drug known as… something known as Heparin.”

“Heparin?” asked Rocher. “But isn’t that…?”

“The Pope’s medication,” the camerlengo confirmed.

“The Pope was on Heparin?” asked Vittoria, sounding surprised.

“He had thrombophlebitis,” Carlo explained. “He took an injection once a day.”

“But Heparin isn’t a poison,” said Rocher. “Why would the Illuminati claim-”

“Heparin is lethal in the wrong dosages,” Vittoria told him. “It’s a powerful anticoagulant. An overdose would cause massive internal bleeding and brain hemmorrhages.”

“How would you know that?” asked Olivetti, suspicious.

Vittoria rolled her eyes. “Marine biologists use it on sea mammals in captivity to prevent blood clotting from decreased activity. Animals have died from improper dosage of the drug. A Heparin overdose in a human would cause symptoms easily mistaken for a stroke… especially in the absence of a proper autopsy.”

Carlo’s eyes widened as realization struck.

“Signore,” said Rocher to Carlo. “If I recall, fifteen days ago, you had fallen ill.”

Carlo nodded. “I had a cold… Papa told me to rest, so I sent for an aide to fill in for me.”

“Do you remember who that was?” asked Olivetti.

“No, I… my mind was so clouded…” said Carlo. “I remember visiting his chambers to bid him good night, and by that point he was already…”

A tear slipped down his cheek. It was all his fault. If he’d just taken his medicine and suffered through it, Papa would still be alive.

“Signore,” Olivetti said. Carlo looked up at him. “Do not blame yourself. There was no way for you to know that the person filling in for you had malevolent intentions. Besides, we don’t know for sure whether that’s what happened. This could be a ploy for publicity.”

Although he appreciated it, Olivetti’s words were no comfort. “But I still don’t understand… how anyone outside could have known about Papa’s medication.”

Nobody had an answer for him. 

“If he overdosed on Heparin,” said Vittoria suddenly. “Is body would show signs.”

Olivetti glared at her. “Ms. Vetra, in case you didn’t hear me, papal autopsies are prohibited by Vatican Law. We are not about to defile his Holiness’s body by cutting him open just because an enemy makes a taunting claim!”

“I was not implying…” Vittoria looked genuinely apologetic. “I certainly was not suggesting that you exhume the Pope.”

“What sort of signs?” asked Carlo.

“Overdoses can cause bleeding of the oral mucosa.”

Carlo blinked. “Oral what?”

“The victim’s gums would bleed,” she explained. “Postmortem the blood congeals and turns the inside of the mouth black.”

Carlo did not recall seeing this when he’d found Papa, but there was a chance it had happened later…

“Signore,” said Rocher suddenly. “If this claim about poisoning is true… then that has profound implications for our antimatter search. The alleged assassination implies a much deeper infiltration of Vatican City than we had imagined. Searching the white zones may be inadequate. If we are compromised to such a deep etent, we may not find the canister in time.”

“Captain, I will tell you what is going to happen,” said Olivetti, coldly.

“No,” said Carlo, straightening himself. “I will tell you what is going to happen. This has gone far enough. In twenty minutes I will be making a decision whether or not to cancel conclave and evacuate Vatican City. My decision will be final. Is that clear?”

Olivetti stared back at him, but made no reply. Carlo turned to Rocher.

“Captain Rocher, you will complete your search of the white zones and report directly to me when you are finished.” He turned to a pair of guards nearby. “I want that BBC reporter, Mr. Glick, in this office immediately. If the Illuminati have been communicating with him, he may be able to help us. Go.”

Then he turned to the ramaining guards. “Gentlemen, I will not permit any more loss of life this evening. By ten o’clock you will locate the remaining two cardinals and capture the monster responsible for these murders. Do I make myself understood?”

“But, Signore,” said Olivetti. “We have no idea where-”

“Mr. Langdon is working on that. He seems capable,” said Carlo. “I have faith.”

He made for the door, waving over three guards. “You three, come with me. Ms. Vetra, you too.”

“Where are we going?” asked Vetra, hesitating.

Carlo stared straight ahead. “To see an old friend.”


	9. Eight

Carlo walked briskly just behind one of the three Swiss Guards, each of whom brandished a bright flashlight that made absolutely no difference in the black abyss that was St. Peter’s Basilica.

He felt no fear here. His other senses had always made up for what he couldn’t see. And right now, the sound of Vittoria’s footsteps told him she was struggling to keep up. 

Falling back, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her paced evened out with his, and they walked in companionable silence for a moment.

“St. Peter’s tomb?” asked Vittoria, pointing to the golden coffer.

Carlo shook his head. “Actually, no. A common misconception. That’s not a reliquary. The box holds palliums - woven sashes that the Pope gives to newly elected cardinals.”

“But I thought-”

“As does everyone. The guidebooks label this as St. Peter’s tomb, but his true grave is two stories beneath us, buried in the earth. The Vatican excavated it in the forties. Nobody is allowed down there.”

“Shouldn’t the Vatican tell people?” asked Vittoria.

Carlo silently agreed with her, but he understood the decision to keep it secret. “We all benefit from a sense of contact with divinity… even if it is only imagined.”

After a moment, he continued. “Change is not something we do well within Vatican City. Admitting our past faults, modernization, are things we historically eschew. His Holiness was trying to change that. Reaching to the modern world. Searching for new paths to God.”

“Like science?”

“That was one way, yes,” said Carlo. 

There was silence for a moment. 

“When did you first hear your call?” asked Vittoria, quietly.

Carlo thought for a moment. “I suppose I’ve always known I would serve God. Even as a child, I felt as though God had a purpose for me.”

“So you’ve always been in the church?” 

“Not quite. I spent two years in the military. I was a medevac helicopter pilot.”

Vittoria sounded surprised. “I thought you could be exempt from military service for religious reasons.”

“I could have been,” said Carlo. “But I was searching for answers to… certain things.”

Vittoria politely accepted his response. “Did you find them?”

“I… I did,” said Carlo. “And it only strengthened my belief that God had plans for me. I fear now that those plans are being executed right now.”

“You really think you can save the city?” asked Vittoria.

“I have faith,” said Carlo. “And that does not always mean I have answers. But I am the one responsible for this city and the people within it, and I will do everything within my power to save it. If it is God’s will, it shall be done.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Vittoria told him. “You have the Swiss Guard… and me and Robert.”

“Thank you, Ms. Vetra. You have all done more than what was required of you,” said Carlo. “I am truly sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” came the reply. 

“I never knew my father,” Carlo told her. “He died before I was born.”

“So your mother raised you?” asked Vittoria.

“For awhile, yes,” said Carlo. “She was killed by a bomb when I was ten.”

“Oh,” said Vittoria sadly. “Who took care of you after that?”

“God. He quite literally sent me another father. A bishop from Palermo appeared at my hospital bed and took me in. I worked under the bishop’s tutelage for many years. He eventually became a cardinal. Still, he never forgot me. He is the father I remember.”

They finally arrived at an opening in the floor, and began their descent into the crypt.

“What became of him?” asked Vittoria from somewhere behind him. “The cardinal who took you in.”

“He left the College of Cardinals for another position,” said Carlo. “And then, I’m sorry to say, he passed on.”

“ _Le mue condoglianze._ Recently?”

Carlo grimaced. “Exactly fifteen days ago. We are going to see him right now.”

They reached the bottom of the spiral staircase, and Carlo led them past all of the sarcophagi, each holding the earthly body of a past Pope. He walked with his eyes closed, having made this journey every day for the past fifteen days. 

“I realize we do not have much time,” said Carlo once he reached his adoptive father’s tomb. “I still ask we take a moment of prayer.”

The small group bowed their heads as Carlo prayed. When he was finished, he said, “Amen.”

“Amen,” said the guards.

“Push the covering aside,” Carlo told them.

The guards, unsurprisingly, looked unsure.

“Signore,” said the tallest of them. “By law we are at your command… we will do as you say…”

Carlo nodded in understanding. “Someday I will ask your forgiveness for placing you in this position. Today I ask for your obedience. Vatican laws are established to protect this church. It is in that very spirit that I command you to break them now.”

After a moment, the guards moved to follow the order. They struggled for a minute, so Carlo joined them and helped push.

“ _Ancora,_ ” he said. “ _Ora!_ ”

Finally, the lid rotated enough for them to see the Pope’s face.

Carlo took a deep breath before looking at Papa’s face. He gasped involuntarily, and stepped away, covering his mouth.

Vittoria gave him a sympathetic look. 

Papa’s tongue was coal black. He had been poisoned, just as the Illuminati had said. 

_Who could do this?_ A voice screamed inside Carlo’s head. _Papa…_


	10. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway through. Yay!

“Mr. Langdon,” said the camerlengo as they met in front of the Swiss Guard security center. “Are you all right?”

Langdon nodded stiffly. Carlo eyed the other man’s hand. It was covered in blood, and this time, Carlo feared it was Langdon’s own.

“You’re hurt,” said Vittoria.

“Mr. Langdon,” said Olivetti, interrupting. “I’m relieved you’re okay. I’m sorry about the crossed signals in the archives.”

“Crossed signals?” asked Langdon angrily. “You knew damn well-”

“It was my fault,” said Rocher quickly. “I had no idea you were in the archives. Portions of our white zones are cross-wired with that building. We were extending our search. I’m the one who killed power. If I had known…”

Vittoria stepped forward, and took hold of Langdon’s bleeding hand. “Robert, the Pope was poisoned. The Illuminati killed him.”

Carlo took out his silk handkerchief and passed it to Langdon. 

“Robert, you said you found where the next cardinal is going to be killed?”

“I do,” Langdon nodded. “It’s at the-”

“No,” said Olivetti. He quickly dismissed the guards who had escorted Carlo and Vittoria to the tombs before Langdon could speak. “As much as it pains me to say this, the murder of our Pope is an act that could only have been accomplished from within these walls. For the good of all, we can trust no one. Including our guards.”

“Inside collusion implies-” said Rocher.

“Yes, the integrity of your search is compromised. And yet it is a gamble we must take. Keep looking.”

“Commander,” said Carlo, feeling a new strength rise inside of him. “I’m going to break conclave.”

“I advise against it. We still have two hours and twenty minutes,” said Olivetti. 

“A heartbeat.”

“What are you going to do? Evacuate the cardinals single-handedly?”

“I intend to save this church with whatever power God has given me. How I proceed is no longer your concern.”

Olivetti relented somewhat. “Whatever you intend to do… I do not have the authority to restrain you. Particularly in light of my apparent failure as head of security. I ask only that you wait. Wait twenty minutes… until after ten o’clock. If Mr. Langdon’s information is correct, I may still have a chance to catch this assassin. There is still a chance to preserve protocol and decorum.”

“Decorum?” Carlo scoffed. “We have long since passed propriety, Commander. In case you hadn’t noticed, this is war.”

“Signore,” cried a guard from the doorway of the security center. “I just got word we have detained the BBC reported, Mr. Glick.”

With a nod, Carlo said, “Have both he and his camerawoman meet me outside the Sistine Chapel.”

“What are you doing?” asked Olivetti, shocked.

Carlo turned away. “Twenty minutes, Commander. That’s all I’m giving you.” 

And then he left.


	11. Ten

Carlo felt very self-conscious as he crossed the threshold. The cardinals stared as he walked up to the altar. Some looked scandalized, while others were flabbergasted. 

“Signori,” he said upon reaching the altar. “I have waited as long as I can. There is something you have a right to know.”

* * *

“Tonight,” said Carlo to the camera. “We are perched on a precipice. None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality… the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.”

He lowered his voice. It was as though Papa were standing next to him, whispering exactly the words to say. “The force, though mighty is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.”

He knelt. “Pray with me.”

The College of Cardinals, having listened to his entire speech, knelt with him. Little did they know, the millions watching the broadcast knelt, too.

* * *

“I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you,” said Carlo, leading Mr. Glick and his camerawoman out of the Sistine Chapel. “Photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns… blackened tongues… But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.”

“Are you sure?” asked Glick.

“The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down,” said Carlo resolutely. “The Illuminati are about to find out that they have grossly overplayed their hand.”

* * *

“Any word from Olivetti?” asked Carlo, feeling exhaustion creeping into his body once more.

Rocher, who was escorting him back to the Pope’s office, shook his head. “No, Signore. I am fearing the worst.”

They were silent the rest of the way. Carlo stepped drearily into Papa’s office.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Signore,” said Rocher. 

Carlo did, sitting in front of the unlit fireplace. Langdon’s half-eaten scone lay on a plate on the coffee table.

“There is nothing more I can do, is there?” Carlo asked.

“You have done much,” Rocher assured him. “Our search for the canister continues. The weapon proves to be too well hidden.”

Carlo pursed his lips “Captain… at exactly 11:15 p.m., if the church is still in peril, I want you to evacuate the cardinals. I am putting their safety in your hands. I ask only one thing. Let these men proceed from this place with dignity. Let them exit in St. Peter’s Square and stand side by side with the rest of the world. I do not want the last image of this church to be frightened old men sneaking out a back door.”

“Very good, signore,” said Rocher. “And you? Shall I come for you at 11:15 as well?”

“There will be no need,” said Carlo, a hollowness in his voice that he was certain Rocher picked up on.

“Signore?”

“I will leave when the spirit moves me,” said Carlo. He shivered involuntarily.

“The electric heat is out,” said Rocher, gently. “Let me lay you a fire.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Carlo, too tired to even smile.


	12. Eleven

Carlo had moved to the floor in front of the fire, unable to fight the cold. Was he growing ill? It didn’t matter, he decided. He had no intention of moving until after midnight.

At least, he hadn’t, until Rocher burst back into the office.

“Captain?” asked Carlo, startled. 

Rocher quickly shut the door.

“Signore! I just received a call from CERN. The director there-”

“Kohler,” said Carlo, pushing himself off the floor. “Papa wrote of him in his journals. What did he say?”

Rocher moved closer, lowering his voice. “He said that Leonardo Vetra also kept journals, and that he wrote of one other visitor aside from His late Holiness.”

Carlo’s eyes widened. “Who?”

“Cardinal Niklas Schober.”

“Schober?” Carlo repeated. No, that couldn’t be right. Niklas Schober and Papa had been friends longer than Carlo had been alive. 

“Signore, if Schober was the only other person who knew about the antimatter and its capabilities…” 

Carlo nodded. “Let us not waste time then.”

“Yes,” said a dark voice. “Let’s not.”

They both turned to see a tall, terrifying man standing in the doorway. Just behind him lay two unconscious (at least, Carlo prayed they were only unconscious) Swiss Guards.

Rocher’s hand was halfway to his radio when the Hassassin lunged. 

“Captain!” Carlo cried as the guard was slammed into the wall, his head hitting it with a terrible sound.

Before Rocher had even hit the floor, the Hassassin had grabbed Carlo by the collar and thrown him down in front of the fire. 

It was then that Carlo saw what was in the killer’s hand. 

The Hassassin, far stronger than Carlo, pinned him to the ground with his knees. 

“I must thank you for lighting this fire for me,” he said, laying the end of the brand in the flames. “It saves me so much time.”

Carlo watched in terror as the metal turned red.

“No!” he cried when the Hassassin ripped his cassock open at his chest.

He struggled to no avail. The monster carefully positioned the square brand above him and pressed it into his skin.

Carlo screamed, the pain beyond anything he could imagine. 

It still burned as the killer threw the brand to the side and stood up. He wrapped his fingers around Carlo’s throat and lifted him. Carlo tried to stand, but he was being dragged by his throat away from the fire. 

Panic swelled within him as he realized what direction they were going. He clawed at the arm holding on to him. Just in front of the window, the Hassassin lifted Carlo’s still-struggling body until his feet no longer touched the floor.

“You will make a beautiful martyr,” said the Hassassin. And then he was tackled by a Swiss Guard.

Carlo was dropped, hitting the floor hard. He gasped for breath.

“Father,” said a familiar, deep voice.

He looked up at Langdon, who was staring wide-eyed at his chest.

Nearby, Olivetti and the Hassassin wrestled with each other, both growling almost primally. 

It happened almost too quickly for Carlo to register it. Olivetti had managed to pin the Hassassin to the wall. There was deafening bang. And then the killer had gone limp, bleeding from a hole in his head.

Olivetti let the Hassassin’s body fall, and it hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Langdon, whose clothes were damp, helped Carlo stand and they all looked around. By the fireplace, Rocher was barely standing, too, his gun in his hands.

“Good work, Captain,” Olivetti said. “Unfortunately, this means we won’t be getting the location of the bomb from him.”

“We don’t need him,” said Carlo. “The Hassassin is just a pawn. We know who is behind this whole plot.”

Olivetti looked shocked. “You do? How?” He shook his head. “Nevermind how. Who?”

“Cardinal Niklas Schober,” said Rocher. “He was the only other person besides the Pope who knew about the antimatter.”

“Schober?” cried Olivetti. “But I was under the impression he and His Holiness were close friends!”

“They were,” said Carlo. “I am as lost as you are. But we cannot waste any more time.”

“It is already 11:30,” said Rocher. “The cardinals are being evacuated. We must move quickly or Schober will escape.”

“You both need medical attention,” said Vittoria suddenly.

“Get me an ice pack,” said Rocher. “I will see a doctor when this is over. If I don’t meet God first.”

Carlo felt the same, and he attempted to stand without Langdon’s support. It was now that Olivetti looked at Carlo’s chest.

“My God,” he whispered. 

Carlo looked down. Earth, Air, Fire, Water. All anagrams… all set in a perfect square… but the Hassassin had rotated the square.

“I believe it’s the Illuminati diamond,” said Langdon. “Father, Vittoria is right. That’s a really bad burn.”

Carlo didn’t answer, heading out the door after Rocher. The others had no choice but to follow.

He stopped only to look at the two guards lying in the corridor.

“They are dead, signore,” said Olivetti. “They are with God now.”

Carlo prayed and crossed his chest before moving on.


	13. Twelve

“Chartrand,” said Rocher.

“Captain,” Chartrand replied, straightening. “Commander… Camerlengo… the evacuation is going smoothly. We are just about to send the first group of cardinals in the Vatican helicopter.”

“We must speak with one of the cardinals,” said Olivetti. “Niklas Schober of Germany.”

“Schober?” said Chartrand. He glanced at the group of one hundred sixty-one cardinals nervously.

“There,” said Carlo. “Next to Mortati.”

Olivetti, Chartrand, and Rocher headed straight for him.

“Cardinal Schober,” said Olivetti. “Please come with us.”

“I beg your pardon, Commander,” said Schober. “But the hour is late, and I wish to go to safety with the other cardinals.”

“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” said Rocher. “Unless you tell us where the bomb is.”

Schober’s brow raised, and the rest of the cardinals stopped. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.”

“You were one of two people in this church who knew about the antimatter,” said Olivetti. “And you were visiting the Pope exactly fifteen days ago, when Camerlengo Ventresca fell ill. I remember now… His Holiness did not ask for anyone to fill in, because you volunteered to assist him for the remainder of the day.”

“Vetra wrote in his journals that you even visited CERN with the Pope,” said Rocher. “And you witnessed its destruction firsthand.”

“Preposterous,” said Schober. “His late Holiness was my friend. How dare you insinuate that I had anything to do with-”

“ _Bugiardo!_ ” cried Carlo, unsure whether the burning in his chest was from the brand, his own anger, or both. He stormed forward. “If he was your friend, then why did you kill him?”

A whisper rose amongst the cardinals as they all saw the brand on Carlo’s chest.

Schober’s expression darkened suddenly. “I had hoped… to make you a martyr, Camerlengo.”

Carlo was taken aback, but he recovered quickly, matching the coldness in Schober’s voice. “Where is the bomb?”

“You must understand,” said Schober. “I only did it out of necessity. His Holiness was not as Holy as we all thought… he had broken his promise to God.”

“I honestly don’t care about your reasons,” said Carlo. “Tell me where the bomb is.”

“You see, His Holiness had conceived a child,” said Schober. 

Another whisper, louder than the last, rose amongst the cardinals again. Even Carlo blinked in surprise. 

“In the name of God, there are lives at stake!” cried Carlo. “Where is the-”

“And that child was you.”

Carlo froze. The hall fell silent.

He felt only anguish… and anger… and then… a quiet calm fell over him. Papa? He thought. 

He straightened, no longer feeling the burn. His fists tightened. “Where is the antimatter bomb?”

Schober laughed. “You’ll never make it in time. The church has been sullied by the Pope and his bastard son. It will end where it all began. But there is time for one more thing.”

“What?” Carlo growled.

“To make you the martyr you were meant to be,” said Schober. He lunged at Carlo, and hit the ground before anyone could process the sound of the gunshot.

Chartrand holstered his gun. “My apologies, Commander. I reacted.”

“It’s fine, Lieutenant,” said Olivetti. “He would never have told us where the bomb was.”

“What did he mean by ‘it will end where it all began?’” asked Vittoria.

“I… don’t know,” said Carlo. His mind could not process anymore.

“Maybe where the church began?” offered Langdon. He began listing possibilities. “Judaism… the cross… the Bible… the Virgin Mary?”

Above the whispers of the cardinals, one elderly voice was heard. 

“Upon this rock, I shall build my church,” Mortati recited.

Carlo stared at him. 

“Didn’t God say that to St. Peter?” asked Vittoria. “But what rock is he talking about?”

“Not a real rock,” said Langdon, clarity in his eyes. “A person. Peter means rock.”

“St. Peter’s tomb!” cried Carlo.


	14. Thirteen

Carlo was running faster than he ever had in his life. He was literally racing against time. 

Others followed behind him. He could hear their footsteps, and saw the faint rays of flashlights in the corner of his eyes. 

Down into the depths of the crypt he ran, descending two levels into the cold, quiet, earthly tomb of the church’s founder.

With Langdon’s help, they pulled off the grate blocking the way. Staring back at them was the countdown clock.

Nine minutes and thirty seconds.  
“What do we do?” asked Langdon. “If we take it to the surface… then there’s no chance anyone will survive.”

“Unless we take it into the heavens,” said Carlo, picking up the canister and racing back out of the tomb. 

There was no time to waste, quite literally.

Langdon kept up with him this time, hot on his heels as he ran back up to the ground floor and out into St. Peter’s Square. 

Carlo ignored the cheers, quickly cutting off the cardinals and hopping onto the helicopter. 

“Out,” he said to the pilot.

The Swiss Guard obeyed. Carlo took his place and was surprised when Langdon sat down in the co-pilot’s seat.

“I’ll hold it,” Langdon said. “You fly.”

Carlo nodded, deciding it was best not to argue. They quickly rose into the air. 

“Five minutes,” said Langdon.

“We have to get as high as we can,” said Carlo.

“Four minutes.”

They still weren’t high enough.

“Three minutes.”

Nearly there.

“Two minutes.”

Carlo switched on autopilot, setting it to continue ascending. Wordlessly, he grabbed the two parachutes in the bag, tossing one to Langdon, who had strapped the canister to the copilot’s seat.

Carlo had his on within seconds, and then helped Langdon. 

Green eyes met blue ones once again. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

Carlo took a firm hold of Langdon’s harness, and then opened the door.

“Now!”

Langdon jumped with him. For a long moment they were free-falling, attached only by Carlo’s hold on the other man’s parachute.

Carlo felt the shockwave before he heard the explosion. For a few seconds, all of Vatican City was bright as day below them. Carlo’s ears were ringing from the thunderous sound.

_And then there was light,_ he thought, understanding suddenly why Papa had been so interested in Vetra’s work.

Fighting the air, Carlo reached over and released Robert’s chute, letting go as the parachute abruptly slowed the professor’s ascent.

_Land safely,_ he thought, before releasing his own.

* * *

Robert cried out as the parachute opened. It felt as if he’d been yanked upward, though some part of him knew that that wasn’t how parachutes worked. He looked below him, his eyes adjusting to the darkness just in time to see the camerlengo’s chute open. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, and then his thoughts turned to one question: how do I land this thing?


	15. Fourteen

Carlo was calm long before his feet touched the ground. He’d landed thirty feet away from the entrance to the Vatican Archives. During his descent, he could think of only one thing. Vatican City, the Catholic Church, and everyone in St. Peter’s Square were safe.

Several members of the Swiss Guard were running towards him as Langdon landed several feet away, staggering. Carlo took off his own parachute, and then helped Robert out of his.

They both took a deep breath.

“You did it,” said Langdon.

For the very first time in fifteen days, Carlo felt pure joy. It manifested itself within him as he threw his arms around Langdon’s shoulders and hugged him. 

He felt a slight blush on his cheeks as he released him, looking sheepish. Langdon gave him a reassuring smile.

“Are you both all right?” asked Olivetti, not even out of breath from his run.

“Yes,” said Carlo.

“Yeah,” said Langdon. He turned to Carlo. “I shouldn’t have gone up with you. I was just deadweight.”

Carlo shook his head. “You have done more for me tonight than you will ever know, Mr. Langdon.”

“Robert,” said Langdon. “You can call me Robert.”

The camerlengo felt his blush deepen. “Carlo.”

“Carlo,” Robert repeated, and Carlo felt his name sounded quite lovely in the professor’s voice.

Olivetti ordered his men to gather the parachutes, then he looked at Carlo with a look of awe on his face that made the camerlengo feel very self-conscious again. “Signore, you have saved us all. Please, follow me back to the Sistine Chapel. I’ve called for medics to meet us there.”

Carlo did not know what to say. His last bit of energy was draining away, and he was certain nothing would bring it back this time. He wasn’t sure he could walk that far.

“Carlo?” asked Robert, sounding concerned. His arms were suddenly around him as his legs gave away.

“Signore!” cried Olivetti.

The last thing he saw was Robert’s eyes, and he thought they looked deeper than the oceans themselves.

* * *

When Carlo awoke, he was laying in his own bedchamber. He could feel something on his otherwise bare chest - a bandage, perhaps? Underneath it, he felt only a slight pain. His throat was sore as well.

He tried to push himself up. “What time is it?”

“Careful,” said a voice. Two strong arms helped him sit. “It’s about three o’clock in the morning.”

“Robert?” 

The professor was sitting by his bed, looking tired and bruised, but otherwise fine. The biggest difference was his change of clothes. He now wore a blue clerical shirt and dark pants. He supposed that made sense. Roberts own clothes had been wet.

“How did you get hurt?” asked Carlo, eyeing the various blackened spots on the professor’s body.

“I wrestled with the Hassassin in the fountain where he tried to drown Baggia,” said Robert. 

“Tried?”

“He survived,” Robert told him. “He’s in the hospital under Swiss Guard. He was branded with the word ‘Water.’”

Carlo prayed silently and crossed himself. “And Cardinal Guidera?”

Robert sighed. “He didn’t make it. The bastard burned him to death, and branded him with the word ‘Fire.’”

Once again, Carlo prayed.

“The College of Cardinals wants to see you,” said Robert. “They’re waiting in the Sistine Chapel for you.”

Carlo’s hand went to the bandage on his chest.

“To excommunicate me, I’m sure,” said Carlo sadly.

“Why would they do that?” asked Robert. “You literally saved the entire church.”

“Papa… the Pope…” Carlo said. “If what Schober said is true… then I am…”

“I don’t think they’re going to kick you out,” said Robert. “They didn’t sound angry when they asked for you.”

Carlo could feel a surge of tears coming. His voice broke. “He was my father!”

Robert wrapped his arms around him, and Carlo sobbed into his chest. Robert’s hand gently stroked his hair. It was calming somehow.

There was a knock at the door, and Robert released him. Carlo reluctantly straightened.

“ _Avanti,_ ” he said.

It was Rocher.

“Signore,” said the captain. “I am glad to see you are awake.”

“Thank you,” said Carlo. “How is your head?”

“I will be fine,” Rocher assured him. “Cardinal Mortati has requested an audience with you in the Sistine Chapel, after you have rested and eaten.”

“Yes, Robert told me,” said Carlo. “I am not very hungry, though. I just need to dress.”

“Signore, I must insist that you eat,” said Rocher. 

Carlo looked up at him, and knew he was right. “Very well.”

* * *

An hour later, after Carlo had eaten, dressed, and been checked by a medic once more, Rocher was leading them back to the Sistine Chapel, and updating him on everything that had happened since he’d fainted.

The cardinals had all returned to the Sistine Chapel, which the media and other onlookers had been ordered out of Vatican City. Only Glick and Macri, the BBC reporter and camerawoman, had been allowed to stay. They had already broadcast statements from both Cardinal Mortati and Commander Olivetti. 

The two had explained their reasons for emptying the city of outsiders quite simply: the bomb was gone, but that didn’t mean the danger was. Until the Swiss Guard’s investigation was complete, no outsiders would be permitted entrance to the Holy city.

“We took down the identity of every person who was in St. Peter’s Square,” Rocher explained. “And we’re running background checks on them all. I also doubled the guard at the hospital where Cardinal Baggia resides. We’re not taking any more chances, signore.”

Carlo nodded. The security of the city, he felt, could now be left to the professionals. 

“We have, however, permitted one outsider,” said Rocher. “The director of CERN, Maximilian Kohler, arrived in Rome just minutes before we found the bomb. Olivetti sent an escort to retrieve him. He, Ms. Vetra, and Mr. Langdon are the only outsiders in Vatican City at the moment. Considering how much they’ve done for us tonight, we felt it unnecessary to expel them.”

“Of course,” said Carlo. “We would be nothing but ash without them.”

Robert smiled at him, and Carlo felt light-headed at the sight.

Finally, they entered the chapel. One hundred sixty cardinals sat waiting in their seats. Vittoria sat, too, next to a man in an electric wheeled chair. Kohler, Carlo assumed.

“Camerlengo Ventresca,” Mortati addressed him. He alone among the cardinals was standing. “We are relieved to see you are recovering.”

Feeling so many eyes on him, Carlo wanted nothing more than to run away. 

“You summoned me?” Carlo asked tentatively.

Mortati nodded solemnly. “The College of Cardinals has reached a unanimous agreement. You see, upon the sight of your safe return, all of us began chanting… spontaneously. It was one word: ‘camerlengo.’”

“I don’t understand.”

“Have you heard of ‘acclamation by adoration?’” asked Mortati.

Carlo nodded.

“You have been chosen, Camerlengo Ventresca,” said Mortati. “You are the new Pope.”

Carlo’s eyes widened, searching the faces of the cardinals. Every one of them was smiling at him.

“No.”

Mortati looked surprised at Carlo’s response. “Camerlengo, this is a great honor.”

“Yet it would not be honorable to take it,” said Carlo. “‘Acclamation by adoration’ has not been a legitimate method of electing a Pope since the _Universi Dominici Gregis._ Only a cardinal can be chosen, and only through conclave.”

Half the cardinals looked impressed, and the rest disappointed.

Mortati nodded calmly. “Very well, Camerlengo. We will resume conclave tomorrow, after we have all rested. But I sense there is still something that troubles you. Is it about His late Holiness?”

Carlo met the older man’s gaze, his heart heavy. “I fear you do not have the answers I seek.”

“On the contrary,” said Mortati. “I have already explained the truth to the College.”

“The truth?” asked Carlo.

“Carlo,” Mortati said, using the camerlengo’s first name. “It is true - you are the Pope’s biological son. I know because when His Holiness was elected, I was the Devil’s Advocate.”

Carlo’s eyes widened. 

“The Pope did not break his vow,” said Mortati, and he began the tale. “You see, many years ago, the Pope, when he was still just a priest, had fallen in love with a young nun. Both of them had taken vows of celibacy and never even considered breaking their covenant with God. Still, as they fell deeper in love, although they could resist the temptations of the flesh, they both found themselves longing for something they never expected - to participate in God’s ultimate miracle of creation - a child. Their child. The yearning, especially in her, became overwhelming. Still, God came first. 

“A year later, when the frustration had reached almost unbearable proportions, she came to him in a whirl of excitement. She had just read an article about a new miracle of science - a process by which two people, without ever having sexual relations, could have a child. She sensed this was a sign from God. The priest could see the happiness in her eyes and agreed. A year later, she had a child through the miracle of artificial insemination.”

“My mother?” asked Carlo quietly. He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Robert, offering him a chair. He sat gratefully.

“Carlo, this is why His Holiness has always had an affection for the sciences. He felt he owed a debt to science. Science let him experience the joys of fatherhood without breaking his vow of celibacy. His Holiness told me he had no regrets except one - that his advancing stature in the church prohibited him from being with the woman he loved and seeing his infant grow up.

“And that is why he came to you in the hospital in Palermo when you were a boy. That is why he took you in and raised you. Your mother, Maria, left the nunnery to raise you, but she never abandoned her strict devotion to God. When the Pope heard she had died in an explosion and that you, his son, had miraculously survived… he swore to God he would never leave you alone again. He loved you dearly, Carlo.”

Carlo was in tears, and he could not contain his sobs.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” said Mortati, softly. “We all are. Truly.”

Carlo barely heard him. The burning pain in his chest had returned tenfold. He cried out, gasping.

“Captain, call the medics,” said Olivetti, calmly. “The morphine must have worn off.”

“Breathe, Carlo,” said Robert. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Carlo leaned into Robert’s embrace. He was warm and the sound of his heartbeat calmed Carlo. He took deep breaths, unaware of the passage of time. They might have been like that for seconds or minutes or hours before the medic finally came. 

He was looked over, and then given another injection of morphine. His eyes slipped closed as his consciousness faded. 

“I’ve got him,” said Langdon’s voice. The last thing he remembered was being lifted off the ground.


	16. Fifteen

Carlo felt very strange in his grey clerical shirt and black pants, but his cassock was too heavy on his burn. Besides, his job as camerlengo would soon be over. Conclave had been sealed once again, and it would not take very long for a new Pope to be chosen. 

Robert was dressed in his own clothes again, which had been cleaned. Vittoria, on the other hand, was dressed in Carlo’s pajamas. The night had been too cold for her shorts, and she’d slept most of the morning away. 

Now it was just the three of them gathered in Carlo’s bedchamber. Vittoria was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a CERN laptop open on her lap. At the foot of Carlo’s bed, Langdon sat with his legs stretched out, leaning his back against the wall. He had picked up one of Carlo’s books to read - this one was about famous Pope’s. Carlo himself was curled up against his pillows at the head of the bed, reading his Bible.

The Swiss Guard were off doing their duties. Rocher had assigned each of them a bodyguard for the remainder of their time in Vatican City; all three of them now stood guard outside in the corridor. 

The tapping of Vittoria’s fingers on her keyboard paused. “What are you smiling about, Robert?”

Carlo looked up to see Robert’s eyes on him, before the professor turned to Vittoria.

“What?” Robert asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Vittoria smirked. “You were smiling fondly at the handsome priest.”

“Wha- I-” Robert stammered, glancing at Carlo before turning back to his book.

Vittoria sniggered, and Carlo couldn’t help but laugh, too. It was such a nice, carefree feeling.

“So, Carlo… what’s your plan?” asked Vittoria.

Carlo turned to her, confused. “My plan?”

“After the new Pope is elected, where are you going to go?” she clarified. “Back to Palermo? Do you want to be a cardinal someday?”

Carlo shook his head. “I hadn’t really thought about it. It’s strange… I’ve always felt that God had a greater purpose for me, and now it feels like I’ve fulfilled that purpose.”

“You don’t think God still needs you?” asked Vittoria.

“Not in the same way as before,” said Carlo. “I’m… I’m not sure… I don’t know where to go from here. In the past, I have always seen signs that showed me where God wanted me to do.”

Vittoria glanced at Robert suddenly, whose eyes were still on the book, but it was obvious the professor was listening.

“Sometimes,” Vittoria said. “The signs are not always clear, but I’m sure that if you listen to your heart, you’ll see them.”

Carlo didn’t have to wonder about her cryptic words for very long. His eyes fell on the professor’s face, and, as though sensing his gaze, Robert turned and stared back. 

“Should I give you two some privacy?” Vittoria teased.

“What? No, I…” Carlo looked down at his Bible, blushing profusely. He knew he should feel ashamed, but he didn’t. “I’ve… taken a vow of celibacy. I…”

“I’m sorry,” Robert said respectfully. “I should probably head home anyways.”

“No! You don’t have to leave,” Carlo insisted. 

“He’s not,” said Vittoria. “The plane won’t leave without me, and I’m staying until the new Pope is announced.”

Robert looked at her in mock annoyance, and Carlo felt a deep sadness suddenly. His two new friends would both return to their lives in a few hours. And he would alone. 

“You know,” said Robert, tentatively. “If you ever want to visit Boston, I… have a guest room.”

It was as though Robert could see right through him. If Carlo went to Boston, he wouldn’t be alone. Mentioning a guest room made it clear that it was a platonic offer.

“You have a passport, right?” asked Robert.

Carlo gulped and nodded. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose…” Carlo said.

“I could use some company,” said Robert. “It doesn’t have to be today… you’re always welcome, whenever you feel like it.”

_What if it’s forever?_ Carlo suddenly thought. The urge to jump into Robert’s arms like he had after their landing was almost too much for Carlo to bear. 

He was saved by a knock on the door.

“Signore,” said Chartrand on the other side of the door. “Conclave is over. A new Pope has been elected.”

Carlo slid off his bed. 

“I suppose I should change,” said Vittoria. 

Carlo looked at her. “To be honest, pajamas are more appropriate than your shorts. I have casual clothing in the bottom drawer there that you can try on. We’ll wait for you outside.”

Vittoria emerged in a pair of Khaki pants and a plain blue t-shirt, both at least one size too big. 

“Does this work?” she asked the Robert, Carlo, and the guards.

Carlo nodded and then led the group in the direction of the Sistine Chapel.

“I thought priests only wore clerical clothing,” said Vittoria.

“Papa always had me pack a casual outfit whenever we travelled,” Carlo told her. “In case we needed to go incognito for any reason. Clericals are not welcome in all parts of the world. Other times, they simply drew too much attention.”

Vittoria nodded thoughtfully.

A few minutes later, they had reached the Sistine Chapel. There was a massive crowd waiting in St. Peter’s Square, having been allowed back inside after the Swiss Guard had completed their investigation two hours ago. There were no vehicles allowed in this time. At the head of the various news crews was Gunther Glick and Chinita Macri, both of whom seemed eager to get started.

Carlo, Robert, and Vittoria waited in the square as well. Carlo could tell a lot of people recognized them, but it seemed the presence of the Swiss Guards was enough to keep them at bay.

“Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum... habemus papam! His Holiness, Papa Honorius Quintus!"

There stood Mortati, dressed in his newly fitted Papal robes, on the balcony of St. Peter’s basilica. Carlo couldn’t help but listen to the new Pope’s speech with a smile on his face.

“ _Scusi_ ,” said Chartrand, leaning in to whisper in Carlo’s ear. “The new Pope has already requested your presence in his office after this.”

“ _Grazie_ ,” said Carlo, his heart sinking.

After the ceremony, he bid a sad farewell to Robert and Vittoria, and followed Chartrand to the Pope’s office.


	17. Sixteen

“Papa,” said Carlo, bowing deeply upon entering his office.

“Carlo,” said Mortati fondly. “You look rested.”

“I am, Papa,” said Carlo.

“You may call me Saverio in private,” said Mortati. “After this past day, I consider you a friend.”

Carlo considered this. “I would prefer ‘Papa,’ if that’s all right with you.”

Mortati nodded. “Very well. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why my first act as Pope was to summon you.”

Carlo nodded.

“Well, I just informed of a recently vacated position that requires the strength, loyalty, and humbleness which you showed last night.”

“Papa?” asked Carlo.

“I speak, of course, of the position of camerlengo. Should you wish it, the job is yours.”

Carlo stared at him. “I… I am honored, Papa…”

Mortati raised an eyebrow. “But…”

“I… I am sorry, Papa,” Carlo said. “I do not believe it is God’s will for me to be camerlengo again.”

Mortati studied him for a moment, and sighed. “That is what I expected. It was certainly worth a try, don’t you think?”

“I don’t understand, Papa,” said Carlo, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“Carlo,” said Mortati, sounding almost like a parent about to chastise a child. “I must remind you that you will never get you what you want… unless you ask for it.”

There was silence between them as Mortati continued to study Carlo, who was working up the courage to make the request he’d been considering for so long.

“Papa, I have one request,” Carlo said finally. “Will you release me from my clerical state?”

He felt small under Mortati’s gaze, waiting with bated breath as the old man seemed to mull over the decision.

“Your request is granted,” said Mortati. “From this moment forward, you will no longer serve as a priest, nor will you be referred to as Padre or any other clerical title. This also means you will no longer receive income or benefits from the church.”

“I understand, Papa.”

“I must inform you, however, that your father did leave you some money,” said Mortati. “I will have his personal will read and fulfilled soon. You’ll need to sign the papers to transfer that money, of course. It is all from his personal income that he saved during his days as a priest and cardinal.”

“Thank you, Papa,” said Carlo. 

“You’re not curious about the amount?” asked Mortati. Carlo shook his head. “You are certainly an enigma, dear friend.”

Carlo did not answer this time, merely bowing his head. “If that is all, Papa, I must go and pack my things.”

“One more thing,” said Mortati. “My first decree was to release you from your clerical state. My second will be this: Carlo Ventresca, you are hereby released from your vow of celibacy.”

Carlo’s eyes widened, dumbstruck and completely speechless.

“I know you shall never lose your faith in God,” Mortati told him. “Go now. Follow your heart. God will lead you where he sees fit.”

Carlo bowed. “Th-thank you, Papa.”

“Will you pray with me?” asked Mortati. 

Carlo nodded, and knelt. When Mortati was done, they both crossed themselves and stood.

“Enjoy your time in America,” Mortati called after him.

Carlo’s cheeks burned as he stepped into the corridor.

“Signore?” said Chartrand.

He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid it’s Mr. Ventresca now, Lieutenant.”

Chartrand looked alarmed. “What? Surely his Holiness didn’t-”

Carlo smiled. “His Holiness has done nothing against my wishes, my friend.”

“Sir, are you really leaving the church?” Chartrand asked sadly.

“It is for the best,” Carlo told him. “And somehow, I believe it is God’s will. I will continue to serve God, always.”

Chartrand nodded sadly. “Shall I take you to the professor and Ms. Vetra, then?”

“They’re still here?” asked Carlo.

“Yes, sir,” said Chartrand. “They are waiting in your chambers.”


	18. Seventeen

At first, Robert had thought Carlo looked odd in jeans and a t-shirt. But now, standing at the CERN airport and watching him say good-bye to Vittoria, he thought the jeans were flattering on him. 

“Promise you’ll visit?” 

“Of course. And you’ll come see us in Boston, won’t you?”

“Is that a question?” Vittoria smirked at the ex-priest.

Carlo laughed. “See you soon, my friend.”

“Good-bye! Take care of Carlo, Robert!” Vittoria waved as the two men boarded the X-33 together.

Robert waved back before following Carlo. They quickly took their seats and strapped in for take-off. 

“So,” said Carlo. “What sort of house do you live in?”

“It’s a, uh, Victorian style house,” said Robert. “I’ve been told it looks more like a museum than a home, but there’s plenty of space, and it’s about a fifteen minute walk from Harvard.”

“You don’t drive to work?”

“Not normally, no.”

They were now in the air, and Robert stiffened at the sight of the clouds through the window.

Something warm touched his hand, and he looked down to see Carlo’s fingers interlacing with his own. He met the younger man’s eyes. 

“I can’t wait to see it,” Carlo said.

Robert grinned. “I’m glad. Boston is a beautiful city. I think you’ll love it.”

Carlo tightened his hold on Robert’s hand.

“You okay?” Robert asked.

“Just tired,” said Carlo. “It’s… it’s been an exhausting couple of weeks.”

Robert pulled his hand away, and received a confused look from Carlo. He lifted the arm rest between their seats and wrapped his arm around Carlo’s shoulders, pulling him close. 

“Try to get some rest,” Robert told him.

Carlo smiled gratefully and closed his eyes.

It was the first true moment of peace they’d had in two days, and Robert intended to savor it.


End file.
